The Very Strange Tale of Taurion
by Illwynd
Summary: A soldier tells his strange tale to Boromir and Faramir, a tale in which things aren't always as they seem.


**The Very Strange Tale of Taurion**  
Disclaimer: Tolkien gets the credit for the good, I take the blame for the bad.  
Summary: A soldier tells his strange tale to Boromir and Faramir.  
Notes: Plot elements adapted from Stan Ridgway's song "Camouflage." Many thanks to Lilan and Cress for their help with this story.

T.A. 3001

Faramir walked quickly across the courtyard, toward home. He was looking forward to a nice warm fire and some reading after a day of training out in the blustery winds. Winter was coming on fast and early that year, and his training master had insisted upon extra hours, while the grey light lasted. He had even missed supper for it.

On a sudden and inexplicable whim, however, he found his steps turning away from home, and toward the soldiers' mess.

The cook there recognized him and smiled. "Well, my young Lord," the man said as he handed Faramir a plate of thick fragrant stew and a mug of hot spiced cider, "the wind is blowing everyone else here tonight—why not one more?"

And it was true, as Faramir saw; nearly every table was crowded. He saw members of the Citadel Guard, a number of other soldiers from various companies, only a few of whom he recognized, and even a handful of Rangers. He thought for a moment about taking his meal out to one of the seats by the wall—there was something enjoyable, he thought, about eating out in the open—but the darkness and the chill of the wind made this a less desirable prospect than it usually would have seemed. And suddenly he heard his name being called. He turned to see his brother waving a hand at him, and motioning him to come and sit. He wove his way through the throng and sank gratefully into the empty chair next to Boromir.

"Faramir, ah, I'm glad you came here! You're only just a few minutes late," Boromir said cheerily.

"Late for what?" Faramir asked, and as he spoke his eyes met those of the man seated across from them. He was somewhat surprised by the sight of him; the man had a wan look, and there was something about him that was vaguely unsettling, though there was nothing in particular that one could point to as the source of it, except perhaps his eyes. He seemed to be only a few years older than Boromir, but his eyes seemed far older, and gazed through him into some unseen distance.

"Minastan was beginning to tell me his tale, and he assures me I have never heard its like. We've just met; he tells me he returned with his company just yesterday, from Ithilien." Boromir seemed to notice nothing strange about his companion, or at least if he did he kept the thought to himself.

Minastan looked from Boromir to Faramir, but his expression remained blank, as if his thought was somewhere else entirely. After a moment he spoke. "Yes, my tale." He took a sip from his mug, looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and then began, in a steady monotone.

"I don't know how it happened. We had hurried across the River that morning, on word that there was a Ranger company nearly overwhelmed. My Captain said that we would likely not be needed, that it was simply a precaution. But then, some time after midday, _they_, the Orcs that is, were all around us. And in the midst of it all, I lost my company. I had heard no signal: I didn't know which direction they had gone. But however it had happened, I found myself alone.

"All my arrows were gone, and my sword… well, I have never before seen a blade in such sorry condition. And I knew that the Orcs that had attacked us were still near. I could hear their uncouth braying voices, carried on the wind. It seemed that they were halted, setting up a camp for the night, and they were between me and safety, between me and the River, and likely between me and whatever remained of my company. With night coming, I did not want to chance going around them, for their eyes are sharper than mine in the dark, so it is said. Mayhap they could even have smelled me. So I crawled under a low bush where I would be hidden, and prepared to wait sleepless for the dawn.

"If only I had not drifted off.

"When I awoke, they were all around me, tromping through the brush. They had not seen me yet, but I was certain they would. I drew my battered blade from its sheath silently as I lay there, waiting, waiting.

"One of them was peering through the bush where I hid. He bent closer, then gave a cry of alarm. Before he was done uttering it, I was standing, hewing at his arm as he reached for his own weapon. I knew then that it was a hopeless fight. They were many, and I was alone. But I intended not to be the only one to perish that night. You don't give up just because there is no hope, after all," he said with a pained laugh. He fell silent for a moment as he wetted his tongue once more.

Faramir noticed just then how quiet it had seemed to become in the room as he listened to Minastan speak. The sounds of people eating, talking, and laughing re-emerged out of the silence. He shook his head to clear it. The little lamp on the table flickered in an unfelt breeze. He looked over at his brother, who was clearly waiting with intense curiosity to hear what had happened next, and suppressed a grin.

"More came running," Minastan continued. "Only a few at first. I managed to fight off two of them. As I faced the third, I heard a shrill scream behind me. Turning for a quick glance at the source of it, I saw the most welcome sight ever—another Orc lay dead at my feet, and the man who had killed him was pulling his blade back from the body. He flashed me a smile, as if to assure me that all would be well, and we both turned to the remaining Orc. That particular bit of fighting didn't take long.

"When it was done, we ran, tearing through the dark undergrowth. When we had reached what we deemed a safe enough distance, we stopped to catch our breaths and listen on the night air for any sound of pursuit. We heard none.

"For the first time then I was able to get a good look at the man standing beside me. He wasn't particularly tall, but his strength was apparent under his worn brown-and-green garb. A Ranger, he certainly was. His eyes were bright and lined from smiling. Catching myself, I bowed to him and told him my name. He nodded pleasantly.

"'Well met, then. I am called Taurion. Now, what strange chance has swept you away from your company, my friend?'

"I briefly recounted the events of that eve for him, after which he stood pondering for a moment.

"'I suspect I know where to find your company, but we shall have to go around the Orc encampment, and I think it would not be wise to wait until morning. They seem not to have followed us, but we had best keep moving even so.'

"He led me across the rising and falling country in the darkness, perhaps along some path that only he could see. It occurred to me that the name he had given fitted him—"son of the forest"—for he certainly seemed to be at ease there, and his steps made not a sound. I tried to match his skillful silence as we crept along between the trees, listening for any sound of approaching feet, but hearing only, here and there, the trickling of stream-water.

"But our luck in this did not last. The whisper of an arrow flying from the string broke the stillness, and it whistled past my ear to clatter against the tree-trunk behind me. I could see the dark shapes of Orcs encircling us in the shadow all around. And one was taking careful aim at me. I stood frozen; I could not act, could not so much as flinch as the arrow flew toward me. I felt I saw my own death, and could not escape it. But somehow, suddenly, Taurion was before me, and he swiped at the air with his open hand. The arrow fell harmlessly to the ground at his feet. More arrows rained down, and I do not know how they missed him, but he was as unscathed as if they were but blades of grass.

"The next hour that passed is a blur in my mind. It does not seem possible that we should have survived, so many assailed us. But we fought. Taurion still had arrows, and he sent them flying in all directions, and Orcs fell wherever he aimed. But soon they were too close for bow work. My battered sword saw ever greater use beside the sword of this strange Ranger whose laughter I could hear as we fought. The sound of it whisked away my fear, and I too began to take heart in the battle. Though we were only two, we would defeat them. I felt certain of it.

"I happened to glance over at him just at the moment that his sword broke. The blade fell to the ground, and he threw the hilt after it. His eyes seemed to glow with fire as he crouched to lift a great stone straight from the ground. Though it seemed so massive a weight that I could not have even hefted it, he swung it like a mace, striking every enemy in his path straight to the ground.

"They were fewer now, and this feat caused such a stir among them that they fell back and took to their heels, and we were able to escape entirely at last.

"A little while later, as the sun crept up over the trees, we came to the edge of an open space in the midst of the forest. At its center I could see many men and tents.

"'You will find your company there, I think,' Taurion said, grinning.

"I thanked him deeply for all he had done for me that night, saying that I felt certain I would have perished alone. He waved my words away, saying that he was glad to have had the chance to do as he did. I bowed to him once more before heading across the field. When I looked back, he had already disappeared into the shadow under the trees."

Here again Minastan fell silent, staring into the flame of the lamp before him.

Boromir was leaning back in his seat and smiling to himself.

"A good tale, and a good telling, Minastan," he said after a moment, sounding quite contented. Faramir was not surprised that his brother had been pleased by the story. Any such combination of great heroism and near-impossible feats had always appealed to Boromir, as far back as he could remember.

For Faramir's part, however, though he would not have said it, he wondered if perhaps the feats were not a little exaggerated.

Minastan looked up at the brothers, and frowned.

"But I am not done telling it," he said sharply. "I did find my company there among the tents, along with the Rangers we had been sent to assist. I found my Captain sitting with a group of them when I went to make my report. I got as far as the mention of Taurion's name before they stopped me.

"'Are you certain that is the name he gave?' one asked.

"'That is what he said,' I answered. I described the man for them. The one who had spoken then stood, and I saw that he was shaking. He took me by the arm and led me to a large tent on the right.

"'You may speak truly, but this,' he said, pointing within it to a cold and still blanket-wrapped form, 'is the Ranger called Taurion. I carried him here myself yesterday, after he was overcome by his wounds.'

"It was, without a doubt, the same man.

"'Before he died, the last thing he said was that he wished to have one more chance to save some other man from the same doom,' the Ranger told me.

"I could not say anything. I closed my eyes and thanked Taurion once more."

Minastan fell resolutely silent. His face had gone yet more pallid in telling his story, and he seemed to shiver. Faramir looked around. The room was now empty, and most of the lamps had been put out, leaving the place in half-shadow. He thought it somewhat odd that he had not noticed the departure of so many people, but he had, after all, been involved in listening to Minastan's strange tale.

And strange it had been. He could recall stories of men's spirits appearing in dreams (the unfortunate Gorlim came immediately to mind), and he knew of course of the Paths of the Dead, where those who had broken their oath languished, but he could think of no story that matched this.

"It is strange that Taurion was able to help you so…" Faramir said, his voice trailing off.

Minastan only nodded.

The three men sat in silence. The wind outside grew louder, and then would seem to die away completely, only to surge up again. The lamp before them guttered and went out.

"I think that is a sign, then, that we should be going, but my thanks for the tale, Minastan," Boromir said, gesturing to the lamp with an uneasy laugh as he stood. Minastan bade them good night in his quiet voice, and remained sitting there in the dark, still nursing his drink.

Faramir followed his brother toward the door. "Do you think it was true?" he asked in a whisper.

"I do not know. Even if it is, it seems…" Boromir shook his head. "I do not know."

Faramir knew what he meant. It should have seemed a good tale. Taurion had been granted the chance he had wished, and Minastan had been saved from a cruel fate. But the way the tale had been told, the look in Minastan's eyes… it was unsettling.

As they stepped out into the cold night, Faramir glanced back into the darkened room.

But Minastan was nowhere to be seen.

-end-


End file.
